


Purgatory

by blueblack-poked-stars (delicate_mageflower), fereldandoglords



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Colonist (Mass Effect), Drug Use, Earthborn (Mass Effect), F/M, Gen, Multiverse, Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), War Hero (Mass Effect), alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 15:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11039295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/blueblack-poked-stars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglords/pseuds/fereldandoglords
Summary: What happens when a tiny little universe is created the moment the Crucible is activated? Carrie and Celeste Shepard are about to find out. The fact this universe happens to exist inPurgatoryis just the beginning of a very unusual experience.This work is written byfereldandoglordandblueblack-poked-stars.Celeste Shepard isfereldandoglord'sand Carrie Shepard isblueblack-poked-stars'. All of this started whenblueblack-poked-starsmentioned something about how Celeste would definitely punch Carrie if they ever met. We'll see about that.





	Purgatory

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: [blueblack-poked-stars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/blueblack-poked-stars) writes in American English, while [fereldandoglord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) writes in British English.

It is over. The Crucible fires and Commander Shepard’s duty is done. She closes her eyes and everything around her falls into chaos and disarray, bright lights and loud crashing sounds, and it is over. It is _finally_ over.

She opens her eyes and everything feels…wrong. There isn’t supposed to be anything here, wherever _here_ is. She looks around, trying to place it, certain she must have died in the aftermath of her confrontation with the Catalyst, but this looks like…this looks like Purgatory. Very funny.

It is in this same moment, however, when the more troubling realization strikes: she is not alone.

A crumpled figure lies on the floor, slightly to her left. Whoever it is, they're lying down face first. And... is that N7 armour? What the hell, it looks exactly like her own, but the colours are different. Hers is a vibrant green, while the figure’s is black but equally covered in dust and blood. The next thing she notices is that the figure has thick red hair, and they're not moving. What exactly is going on here?

She gets up, and approaches them, one hand on her pistol and the other hand already pulsing with biotic energy.

The prone figure gives off a slight static charge in response, and then starts upright with a loud, desperate inhale. She looks up to the stranger staring her down: armor that looks like hers aside from the difference in color, buzzed down hair and bright, glaring eyes, along with pronounced facial scarring emitting a strange red glow…just like hers.

“Who the fuck are you?” She asks in a panicked breath, with wide, startled eyes, holding back her own biotics.

“I could ask the same fucking thing,” she replies, annoyed. “But fine. Celeste Shepard,” she adds, lowering her hand slightly but carefully. Celeste takes in the stranger’s features: high cheekbones, pale skin and a pair of bright green eyes. Red hair falls in disarray around the human’s face.

She takes in the rest of the immediate surroundings - this definitely _is_ Purgatory. The bar looks exactly as she remembers it - the neon lights, the high ceilings, the bar, the soft leather couches in the VIP area where Aria and her minions used to hang about. The only difference is that there is no music playing and there is no one else in the bar besides the two of them. This has to be a great fucking cosmic joke. Is this what happens when one dies? But most importantly, why is someone else here? She gets impatient when the stranger doesn’t reply, and scoffs, “well?”

 _“Carrie_ Shepard,” the second woman replies as she rises to her feet. She remains heavily on edge, taking a mental note of where her SMG is holstered, with her hair literally standing on end from that familiar static that can’t help rising to the surface when she holds herself _this_ ready for a biotic attack.

Purgatory, though…this really is fucking _hilarious._ What’s a lot less funny, however, is being stared down by someone so strange yet so familiar, someone with the same scars and the same red tint to her eyes, and even the same surname. Nothing here feels quite familiar, though, quite right, no matter how much time she’d spent in this place, how ingrained in her memory it is (or how many memories a night there has cost her, for that matter).

She clenches her fist with a glance at Celeste, and she takes a deep breath before adding, “And I need a fucking drink.”

Celeste smirks - of course, considering her usual stoic expression, her lip twitch could be hard to read for someone who has no idea who she is. This person, this Carrie _so-called_ Shepard, slowly starts getting up. Celeste tuts. “Not so fast. How can we have the same fucking surname? There’s no other Shepard but me.”

Carrie takes in the depth and cadence of Celeste’s voice, the throaty intonation that sounds so much like her own. She doesn’t flinch, refuses to show that she is absolutely terrified of what the hell this means, of how severely her brain might be fucking with her this time. Instead, she mirrors Celeste’s smirk and looks her dead in the eyes, feigning fearlessness while she swallows down the urge to scream.

“Well, every other Shepard _I_ know was murdered by fucking slavers on Mindoir back in 2170, so your guess is as good as mine,” Carrie hisses. “Now what fucking good is being trapped in a goddamn bar if _I can’t get a fucking drink?”_

Celeste is taken aback - she lowers her hand. She had heard about the Mindoir raid, everyone had. She remembers being a teenager and watching the vids showing the aftermath - so many dead at the hand of the batarians. However, she is sure the Shepards _she_ knew hadn't been murdered, least of all in Mindoir. The other Shepards she knew had died sometime in the 2160s. She does not voice any of this, though.

She doesn't know what the fuck is going on, but the stranger’s idea - Carrie’s idea - to get a drink sounds appealing right about now.

“You know what,” Celeste shrugs, “you're right. It's what bars are good for, right?”

Carrie tries to laugh—finally, some common ground, something that sort of makes sense—but instead something in her head snaps. Fucking PTSD, it always seems to kick in at the most inconvenient times. She’d been doing so well at holding her ground so far in this, but in a flash those efforts crack and fall away into nothing.

She breathes deep, the panicked hyperventilation threatening to come forward, and she can’t even bring herself to care about what Celeste might think, of how Celeste is probably looking at her when she starts muttering affirmations to herself out loud, a practice Kaidan and Karin have gotten her into during moments like these over the past few years.

“Lieutenant Commander Carrie Nesiah Shepard, born April 11, 2154, on Mindoir…Alliance military, N7, Normandy…it’s okay, you’re here, you’re somewhere, you’re real…Kaidan says you’re real, Joker says you’re real, James says you’re real…oh god, oh fuck…”

She tries to hold on but she can’t convince herself. She’s not sure, she can’t be sure. Is she real? Or is Celeste? They can’t both be, can they?

Where the fuck are those drinks?

Celeste raises her eyebrows. She recognises this behaviour, but not from personal experience. Surprisingly (even for herself) many years as a soldier didn’t give her PTSD, but she knew many fellow soldiers and friends who suffered from it. She observes Carrie carefully, suddenly worried. The _content_ of what Carrie is muttering to herself, though, that is another matter entirely. She will have to deal with that later.

There are more important and urgent matters at the moment. She turns around, quickly makes her way to the bar and looks around for the strongest bottle of liqueur she can find. If she’s going to be stuck here with someone who’s having a breakdown, then fucking hell, she’s going to try to help.

She grabs a bottle, makes her way to a still hyperventilating Carrie, and holds out the ryncol to her.

Carrie takes Celeste’s offer and finds it in herself to respond with a grateful nod. She slows her breathing just enough to be able to kick back as much of the drink as she can—she recognizes the taste and that burning sensation immediately, and that laugh she wanted earlier comes out in full force.

“Fuck,” she says after she swallows it down. “Oh god, the last time I had _this…”_

It’s a little painful, the way Carrie keeps laughing while she still can’t quite breathe normally, but she doesn’t know how else to respond.

“The last time I had this,” she starts again, knowing well that she’s the only one who finds it funny, “I woke up in a bathroom with Thane and Grunt basically fucking _baby-sitting_ me…well, Thane was, I guess, but Grunt was more proud that it didn’t kill me…”

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Celeste laughs. “Same here, although I was with Miranda and Jacob. Miranda sure lost her shit…” She decides to not question how Carrie seems to know the same people as her, and how they had a similar yet different experience when it comes to ryncol. Instead, she returns to the bar and grabs a bottle for herself. _Might as well make the best of it._

At least Carrie seems to be calming down. Her breathing seems to have slowed down, and she’s fallen silent again, gulping down the ryncol. She studies the other woman again - her own scars buzz with an odd energy when she’s closer to Carrie. She suddenly wishes that Mordin was there - she is sure he’d come up with a theory, an explanation for the odd bond she feels she has with this person. Someone she shares a last name, a date of birth and the scarring with, while logically it should be impossible. Thinking about it gives her a headache, so she pushes the thought away again.

She carefully approaches Carrie, and holds out her hand. “If we’re going to be stuck here, let’s at least get comfortable. Get your ass up, _gringa_.”

Carrie contemplates sharply—everything is _sharply_ right now, from the burn in her lungs over the simple act of breathing and the way the liquor feels like it’s forcing her way through her entire being and coursing down her very soul, to the pounding in her psyche over the glaring sensation of unreality this whole situation holds…and the glaring red glow of the woman before her, which resonates strangely with Carrie, and whose hand she hesitantly takes.

The feeling between them when they touch is jarring, to say the least. Carrie knows that she, for one, has never experienced anything like this, and struggles to so much as think of words to explain it. It isn’t a chill or a burn, but it shakes her the same way. It is something more, something _unnatural,_ and she has to remind herself to breathe again as she looks at Celeste, trying to get a read on her, anxious to know if she felt it, too.

And Celeste did feel it, indeed. The other Shepard’s touch is unfamiliar to her but, instead of making her uneasy, it makes her feel safer in this eerie setting. It's peculiar and definitely _odd as fuck_ , but surprisingly not unwelcome. She frowns, unsure what to say. Carrie’s expression changed slightly when their hands touched, and she figures her own must have changed too.

“Did you…?” Celeste finally manages to ask, eager to know the answer.

“Yeah,” Carrie doesn’t miss a beat. She doesn’t need Celeste to finish the question, she doesn’t need her to elaborate. This is not helping the way her head is spinning, though, how overwhelmed she’s already feeling. This does not help at all, and she is certain Celeste is aware of the way Carrie’s hands instantly began to shake the moment she met Celeste’s. “What the hell _is this?”_

Celeste wishes she had an answer. “I don't know,” she says, helping Carrie up. She worries for her, though - this is making her own head spin. “My guess is… well, fuck, something must have happened the moment I activated the Crucible,” she says, hoping the meaning is this is not lost on Carrie - however, she is immediately reassured when the other woman nods. “That's my guess, but it doesn't really make anything clearer, does it really?” She chuckles darkly, and her own hands start to shake.

“So, wait,” Carrie’s voice shakes almost as harshly as her hands. She knows Celeste catches it, for as much as she wants to hope the other woman doesn’t. “If _you’re_ Shepard, and _you_ activated the Crucible…no, fuck, _really_ …what does that mean? We can’t both…”

Carrie thinks on what Kaidan told her when they saw the Cerberus footage of the Lazarus Project, when she wondered aloud if she might only be a VI meant to imitate the real Shepard, how gently he’d told her, “You’re real enough to me.”

But now…if Celeste is real, Carrie is sure _she_ can’t be. She doesn’t know what Kaidan could have meant, in that case, or…or if Kaidan was ever even real, himself.

Unfortunately, judging by the look on Celeste’s face, Carrie has made the mistake of wondering out loud once again.

“Kaidan,” Celeste lifts her eyebrows and her heartbeat quickens. Her hand is on Carrie’s arm, and she doesn’t remember putting it there. A small part of her brain realises she wants, she needs to be holding on to someone, something right now. She hears a faint ringing in her ears, and suddenly feels like screaming. 

“No, no, no, no, no”, Celeste mutters, holding on tighter to Carrie’s arm. “We’re real, we’re both real,” she repeats, her chest tightening. If they’re not real, then Kaidan is not real. Thane is not real. Anderson is not real…

“No…”

She falls to her knees, and she feels like she’s going to pass out.

“No,” Carrie echoes and steps backward. “No, I do not accept this.”

She’s yelling. She didn’t mean to start yelling.

Carrie closes her eyes and focuses on Kaidan, on her vivid memories of him—the sound of his voice, the way he smells, the way he feels, the way he tastes…that little spark of static she always feels when her hands pull on his hair of their own accord when his head is between her legs. She doesn’t care about anything else right now aside from the fact that _Kaidan is real._

At the very least, she doesn’t want to picture a galaxy without Kaidan Alenko in it.

“That’s it, I died,” Carrie says softly. “I really did die for good in 2183 and Kaidan is alone and…oh god, I know he’s hurting but if I am _this_ fucked, then…then…I know he’s better off. It’s okay, this is okay, this is…this is…this is…”

This is not okay.

Celeste keeps trying to get a grip on reality - _if this could even be called reality_ , a voice in her head says softly. “Whatever the fuck this is then,” she struggles to get the words out. Breathing heavily, she tries to focus, sweaty palms resting on her knees. “Come on,” she tries to even her breathing.

Celeste thinks of Kaidan’s soft hands and heart, ever so gentle and always willing to help, even he is the one who needs to be helped the most. She thinks of how truly hurt he had been, two years before when he first set eyes on her after he thought she had died (she had, but he didn’t know the sordid details until later). She’ll never forget the way he apologised to her for not trusting her - she resented him and blamed him for the longest time. Anger, pure hot, white, all-consuming anger blinded her and she took it out on everyone who got in her way that fateful day after the entire Horizon ordeal. She was alone, so alone, and she needed a friend. Garrus had been there, of course, but her friendship with Kaidan had been different. They always got along perfectly, sharing jokes, a drink, quiet laughter. After they got to know each other better, he was much more relaxed around her. And then Horizon…

Her thoughts wander to Thane next, as they tend to do. She thinks of how they first met, the first words they exchanged in Nos Astra. She never had the chance to tell him before he died, but the minute she saw him she was immediately captivated. The actual feelings came later, of course, because she simply didn’t _do_ feelings - everyone knows that Celeste Shepard does not fall in love. _But then Thane showed up and ruined everything_ , she thinks, fondly. _I miss him so much_.

She thinks of Kaidan again. She struggles so much with her guilt due to their relationship - Thane’s death is so recent, still so raw on her heart. She’s so terrified, she doesn’t want Kaidan to hurt again. _He deserves the world_. The prospect of leaving him alone again terrifies her, and she makes a decision. She takes a deep breath and starts attempting to get up, a glint of determination in her eyes.

“Carrie,” Celeste says, more softly than she was expecting. “Carrie, you are not dead, okay,” she tries, her voice steadier now. “Because that would mean I’m fucking dead, and _that’s_ not fucking okay.”

“Okay,” Carrie says heavily. She feels like she may never breathe properly again, but she isn’t sure she cares. She needs to figure this out, and right now Celeste is the only lifeline she has—casually ignoring how afraid Celeste’s presence, Celeste’s _very existence_ makes her.

She was fine with dying. She’s perfectly at peace with the idea of being dead, if she’s honest. Except for Kaidan…she _always_ meant to make it back to Kaidan if she could. She holds onto that.

“You’re right,” she tells Celeste. “You’re right, that’s…I have to get back to Kaidan. _I have to.”_

She loves him so fucking much it takes over her completely, as it has for so long now, but in this moment it gives her a tether, it gives her a reason to push forward.

Carrie is fucking terrified, but she will trust Celeste. She has to trust Celeste. Even aside from this uncanny connection she feels to her, Celeste is all she has, her only hope, and that will have to enough.

Carrie instinctively punches her own arm as hard as she can and tries to take a deep breath. For a fleeting moment she feels (for lack of a better term) alive due to that sensation, and it brings her to some sort of determination. She looks to the floor immediately after she does so, though, not wanting to see the look that’s surely earned her.

“Help,” she follows in a whimper, entirely without meaning to, and she’s not even sure who that could have been meant for. She still doesn’t look at Celeste. She can’t.

But she knows she has to trust her.

She takes another second, hoping it’s enough for Celeste to ignore those pronounced moments of weakness that had only just passed, and this time she is the one to offer her hand.

“ _Gracias_ ,” Celeste mutters, thankful. She takes Carrie’s hand, and it is warm and comforting. She holds on to it like a lifeline - she needs her, even though she’d never admit it out loud. However, somehow, she knows that Carrie feels the exact same thing. “Let’s… let’s sit down. Properly this time,” she manages a weak smile.

She stumbles a little getting up, but Carrie makes sure she doesn’t let go. Even though she barely knows her (and yet she feels like she does), she admires her - just a second ago, Carrie was absolutely _losing her shit_ (to put it mildly) and she was now helping Celeste, giving her the time of day. _They can do this together_.

Carrie, of course, still feels like she’s drowning, still can’t piece her head together, still can’t reconcile both Celeste and herself being here.

Once they’re seated, Carrie forces herself to focus, to try to ground herself to what’s around her. She wants to break again, it’s all her mind can seem to desire, but she holds it back. She promises herself she won’t cry, for as great of a threat as that feels. She doesn’t let anyone see her like that, not ever, with the sole exception of Kaidan. He is the only living being who has ever seen that side of her she always so desperately works to hide, the only person who’s been able to peer over her walls even the slightest bit since she was a child. Not even Thane…

No, nope, that is not a bridge she’s crossing right now. She has so many regrets when it comes to him, and this is _not_ the time to let those come to the surface.

At the same time, however, there is something about Celeste that makes Carrie feel she _could_ be vulnerable in front of her. Not that she has any intention of letting that happen any more than it already has, but… _why?_ Why her, why now?

She meets Celeste’s eyes, tries to get a better read on her. Celeste seems like she may be even more guarded than Carrie, which is impressive. Celeste actually kind of reminds her of Jack, now that she thinks about it—she doesn’t say anything, but she wonders if she could. After all, she has the sneaking suspicion that Celeste knows Jack, as well, somehow, however any of this works…

Celeste’s eyes are firmly honed in on her, just as hers are honed in on Celeste’s. That stark pale blue, like her mother’s…

Like her mother’s? Maybe? She isn’t sure if that’s real (how little she remembers, such a fucking shame), or if it’s simply this impossible closeness and familiarity between the two of them.

Carrie decides it’s time, decides to bite.

“So, umm…tell me about yourself,” she says quietly. The words are awkward, but she doesn’t know what else to say, doesn’t know how else to start.

Celeste also recognises _something_ in Carrie’s eyes. She can’t name what it is, however. When’s the last time she has been asked that, even?. She feels safe in the other woman’s presence - looking into her bright eyes makes her feel reassured, so she nods.

“I was born in April 11, 2154, in a small Barcelona neighbourhood,” Celeste starts, leaning back on the leather couch she’s now somewhat comfortable on. She then leans forward to grab her bottle of ryncol from the coffee table, and continues. “I was part of a gang for a long time when I lived in Toronto, the Tenth Street Reds. I’m sure you’ve heard of them,” she takes a sip and grimaces. “I joined the Alliance when I turned 18. It was either that or prison,” she adds. “I had good mentors,” she adds, noncommittally. She doesn’t want to think of Anderson. She’s not ready. “I was awarded the Star of Terra in 2176, for being the driving force behind the Skyllian Blitz. Oh, and I died and was brought back to life by the most fucked up organisation ever to grace the Milky Way,” she angrily states, “however, being alive allowed me to destroy the Reapers from fucking humanity over ever again, or so I hope. Your turn.”

“I was born on…that same day…on Mindoir…I already said that, didn’t I?” Carrie vaguely recalls that mild panic attack from just minutes ago, and she shakes her head but she is grateful that Celeste doesn’t intervene. “I lost _everything_ to those fucking raiders. My whole family, everyone, fuck…I was 16. Don’t ask me about them, or about my life there, or anything, I…I won’t have answers.”

She takes a deep breath, which remains a difficult task, and again she is grateful that Celeste appears to only keep listening.

“I was rescued by a passing Alliance patrol—my biotics manifested during the raid, which is a whole _thing_ until itself, but…” Carrie isn’t sure how much she has ever spoken about Mindoir with anyone aside from Kaidan, and even with him she tends to avoid the issue, but somehow she knows it’s okay to continue now. “I went with them, and I was trained, and I joined up at 18, too. I was 23 when I went to Akuze, when I…when I led fifty marines into a thresher maw attack. I was the only one who made it out in one piece. Although I suppose _that’s_ debatable. In 2183, I…I died, too, yeah. Cerberus brought me back and I did their fucking bidding. Even though it _also_ turns out they’d orchestrated the fucking massacre on Akuze. Fun fact, right? Better yet, working with them almost cost me Kaidan, but…I’m here now, I guess. I set off the Crucible. I think I saved them. God, I hope so, I…I hope I gave Anderson a _reason_ to be proud of me.”

She can’t imagine speaking so freely except that, well, here she is, doing exactly that.

Carrie reminds herself that she isn’t allowed to cry, that she cannot let herself show that much weakness, and she looks to the ryncol and then back to Celeste, requesting in the most casual tone she can muster, “Pass that, will you?”

Celeste passes her the bottle. “That’s fucked up,” she says. “I’m sorry,” she decides to add. She knows that those words are not enough, will never be enough, for an ordeal of that magnitude, but she hopes Carrie understands her intention. Her gut wrenches at the mention of both Kaidan and Anderson, but she doesn’t mention it. “What do you mean, ‘you think’ you saved them? What did you do?” The words come out more accusatory than she means them to.

“I don’t know, _what I was told,”_ Carrie replies uncertainly. She is nervous. She is very, very nervous. “Everything was so overwhelming, it was hard to take in, I…I…”

Another deep breath to try to stave off the panic, followed by a _very_ long drink of ryncol.

“I did what the Catalyst said,” she sighs and looks again towards Celeste, as though she is awaiting some sort of judgment. “I did _my best._ I wanted to save everyone I could, I…I just _really_ fucking hope I saved _everyone.”_

“There’s no fucking ‘saving everyone’,” Celeste spits out, suddenly angry. “That’s just not how war works,” she sucks in her teeth. “I didn’t want to listen to the Catalyst. He had to have been full of shit. I made a conscious choice to shoot everything and hope for the best.” Celeste gestures at Carrie to pass her the bottle. “Whatever ‘the best’ is in this fucking situation, I guess.”

She shrugs. She didn’t mean to sound so fatalistic, so defeated. It’s not that it wasn’t like her to be this way - Celeste actively fought against that little voice in her head every single moment, but rather it was unlike her to show it. She hastily takes a drink from the bottle, finishing it.

“No, there _isn’t_ a ‘saving everyone,’ you’re right,” Carrie looks towards the floor. It is now evident which choice Celeste had made—and how greatly Celeste is likely to disapprove of how Carrie handled it. _“But_ there are already too fucking many I couldn’t help. I lost everyone on Mindoir _and_ Akuze, and then I lost Jenkins, and then fucking Ashley, and then Mordin, and then Thane, and then Legion _and the entirety of the fucking geth,_ and then there was Thessia, and…and then _Anderson,_ and I couldn’t be responsible for any more _needless_ casualties, alright? I don’t know if I made the right call and I don’t know if it even fucking worked, anyway, but I stand by what I did.”

Carrie is much too sober for this shit.

Celeste clenches her fist at the mention of all of those people she has also lost, but one of the names sticks out over the others - _Thane_. She feels the threat of tears, so she tosses the empty bottle aside and gets up. Heading to the bar, she replies, “couldn’t negotiate a truce between quarians and geth?” Picking up another bottle, she faces Carrie. “Good, at least it’s not just me who fucking made mistakes,” she snarls, angry. She opens the bottle and takes a swig, barely aware of what she’s doing. “At least it’s not just me who fucking lost a shitload of people.” She sits back down across from Carrie, and takes another swig.

She’s being unfair, she knows. It’s not Carrie’s fault at all - hell, Carrie is hurting as much as she is. But it’s always been her way - instead of keeping her pain to herself, it’s always been easier to let it out on others. She hates that, and Carrie doesn’t deserve it. Swallowing her pride, she shakes her head and looks at her companion.

“Look… I’m sorry,” she apologises. “I just…” She trails off, and takes the bottle once more.

“No, don’t be,” Carrie shakes her head. “Have at it, really—you can’t say anything I haven’t already said to myself, and fuck knows no one else ever does, so…”

She takes the bottle and follows Celeste’s lead. She doesn’t care. Whatever this woman thinks of her, whatever she wants to do to her—she truly believes, deep down to her very core, that she deserves it, and that someone calling her on her shit is long overdue.

Carrie sighs. A part of her genuinely hopes for the worst.

“No,” Celeste replies, rubbing her temples while Carrie takes a swig of ryncol. “This is absolutely not your fault - none of it,” she adds, “this just makes no fucking sense. None of this does.”

Celeste does something she didn’t think to do before - she checks her omni-tool. The clock on it reads the same time it did before she activated the Crucible, so she assumes Carrie’s omni-tool says the same thing. “Guess time has no meaning here,” she groans, and closes the device. She starts removing the few pieces of her armour that remained. They stink of dried blood and dust, and she wants to feel comfortable. If she’s honest, this place kind of gives her the creeps - it’s a familiar setting, sure, but it’s still eerie to see the huge bar empty, not a single soul in sight - and she wants to attempt some normalcy. When she’s done removing her armour, she sits back down. She takes a deep breath and starts trying to make some sense of this situation.

“So,” she states, and gestures for Carrie to pass her the bottle, “from what I gather, we both seem to know the same people, we’re both Alliance soldiers, we were born on the same day of the same year… fuck,” she curses, and takes a long swig, longer than it’s reasonable even for her. “What the fuck, I just wanted to end it, dude, I just… I just wanted to make the galaxy a better place. I didn’t… What does this mean? What if Anderson was wrong? What if the Catalyst was right and EDI is never whole again? What if the choice I made wasn’t good enough? Did my friends make it? Oh, _God_ …”

Celeste exhales, trying to get a grip of herself. She is taking all of this a lot harder than she expected to. A thought occurs to her, and it’s out before she has time to think about it. “You mentioned Thane… does this mean he’s also... how did he…” Her voice trembles as she waits for Carrie to say something.

Carrie decides not to comment on EDI, on how their friendship (as well as the fact that she sees Joker as a brother) was a key factor in her decision at the Catalyst. Celeste is clearly feeling that enough as it is, so Carrie focuses on her last point instead.

“A Cerberus assassin called Kai Leng ran him through with a sword,” Carrie says flatly. “But something tells me you already knew that.” 

She gazes at Celeste, who does not answer, but those bright eyes of hers fall and Carrie feels a chill when she realizes.

Celeste _loved_ him, the way Thane had loved her, and the way she could never have loved him in return. She does not say that much, but watches Celeste carefully, waiting for a response.

Carrie is almost afraid for what comes next.

Celeste keeps her head low. When she finally speaks, it’s in a quiet voice that sounds nothing like her usual one. “I see,” she says, in the same flat tone. She sniffs, and starts fiddling with the sleeve of her sweater. She doesn’t know why the confirmation he died the same way in Carrie’s world makes her feel miserable. _The_ gringa _had said she lost him_ , she thinks to herself, _it could only have meant only one thing, you dipshit_. She loathes herself for having asked for clarification. What had been the point? Thane was dead, and that was that.

The way Carrie spoke about him before, though, it made Celeste think she could have possibly had feelings for Thane. She hoped it had been so. However, the cold tone Carrie used to refer to his death made her realise it hadn’t been the case. Perhaps they had been just squadmates and friends, and nothing more. _Stupid, stupid_.

Part of her had hoped Thane was alive. It didn’t matter if it was in another world that wasn’t even her own, but if he had been alive, no matter where or how, it would mean the galaxy would feel less empty. If he had had someone who loved him, even if she wasn’t in the picture, it would make her feel so much better. But it had been foolish to hope, and even more foolish to ask. Why the fuck did it matter if Thane had died at Kai Leng’s hands, or at the hand of Kepral’s? He was still dead, dead and gone. Celeste would never feel quite right again. The familiar weight on her chest returns, and then she feels numb. It feels like losing him all over again.

“I take it y’all weren’t very close, then,” she tries to remain calm and unaffected, but her voice betrays her.

Carrie swallows hard. _Oh no, oh no, no, no…_

Carrie recognizes the disquiet in Celeste’s posture, in her eyes, in her voice. Carrie knows this act well, and she is terrified of breaking Celeste’s now.

She is grateful she did not take her cue from Celeste to remove her own armor. She’s not sure what good it does her in any case, it’s so torn apart, but it grants her the _illusion_ of safety and right now, she will take whatever she can get.

“We were,” Carrie admits. She takes another breath and then another drink. A few uncomfortable beats of silence pass between them. Carrie’s chest hurts from all this panic that’s been hovering over her collecting in her lungs, and she hyper aware of it during this silence. She has to give a better answer, though, she knows. She has to say _something._ “It’s…complicated.”

Carrie is sure she could have done better than _that._ Maybe she should have just left off at where she started.

“What,” Celeste blurts out, clenching her fists. The air starts to buzz with biotic energy, and before she realises what she’s doing, she’s already up. “What the fuck, do you mean _it’s complicated_? What the fuck does that even mean?” Her voice breaks again, and her entire body glows blue.

“It means what it means,” Carrie replies tersely. She isn’t annoyed with Celeste, but almost eagerly anticipates the other woman’s reactions to…whatever she’s going to say next, however she’s going to proceed from here. She _wants_ Celeste’s anger over this, she _wants_ Celeste to take out her feelings on her, but Carrie can see how much Celeste still hurts over losing Thane, how deeply she really did love him, so she is still wary of hurting Celeste even more just to provoke a reaction. Her voice cracks like Celeste’s had just done when she speaks again to offer, “Do whatever you want with that.”

“You sound like you didn’t care for him at all,” Celeste raises her voice, unable to stop herself. She approaches Carrie, who’s still not saying a word. “Tell me what you mean by it. _Now_.”

Celeste tries to calm down, but every exercise and technique she was ever taught to control her anger is forgotten as she threatens Carrie with her biotics.

Carrie does not take a drink, neither does she meet Celeste’s eyes. She considers both, and she _especially_ has to hold herself back from the former, but she puts her head in her hands and looks to the floor. She closes her eyes and takes another harsh breath, and her fingertips dig into her scalp and start to pull on her own hair.

“I did—I do care for Thane, really,” she begins. Her voice is harsh and hollow, hard to let go of. “But it was…it wasn’t _right._ It’s clear how _you_ feel about him, so I guess it’s good that there’s some world out there where he _was_ given what he deserved. He deserved so much better, he really did, but…”

Carrie takes another forceful breath and digs her hands into her hair even harder before she adds, “I don’t know if you’ve formed much of an opinion of me so far, but know this: I am _not_ a good person. I’ve somehow managed to trick most of the fucking galaxy into believing I am, but…I’ve done bad things and hurt good people. Thane is one of the best I’ve ever known, and I think I actually _did_ make him happy, but he deserved better, Celeste. He did not deserve _me.”_

Celeste is taken aback by the response - she was ready to retaliate without any second thought, but after _that_ , she doesn’t know what to do. She steps back, and falls silent. She looks at Carrie’s forlorn figure, sitting miserably on the couch and she doesn’t know what to feel.

Anger is easy, too easy for her. For a hot moment, she really did want to hurt Carrie. She did want to let her anger out in some way, and Carrie’s complicated admission regarding Thane was the outlet she was unconsciously looking for. Honestly, if she hadn’t said anything, Celeste would definitely have punched her (or worse). But now…

She doesn’t believe, not for a single second, that Carrie is a bad person. She knows bad people - she’s seen the worst of them, both in her years as a soldier and in the Reds. She’s seen rapists, murderers, slavers… and she knows bad when she sees bad. Carrie Shepard, however, isn’t a bad person. Also, no matter in what universe he was in, Thane wouldn’t have feelings for a bad person - Celeste knows that. Even if she didn’t trust her own judgement, she could trust Thane’s. And she does.

“You’re not a bad person,” Celeste finally voices what has been going on through her head. “I think that’s bullshit, Thane would never fall for a bad person,” she adds. She feels confused and somewhat dizzy after the mood whiplash she just experienced. Carrie has fallen silent, so Celeste decides to give her a moment to think.

Carrie has no idea how to react to Celeste’s complete turn in regards to this subject. People always seem to let her bullshit go, always seem to be understanding of her, always seem to forgive her and… _why?_ She shakes her head. She does not look up yet.

“You don’t know me,” Carrie says quietly (but why does that feel like such a lie?). She struggles for more, for something to add, for something of substance, but she comes up short. She only sighs, keeps her head down, and tries not to think of Kaidan.

“I don’t,” Celeste says, relieved that Carrie is responsive at least. “But I know Thane and I know Kaidan. They’re good men, and I trust their judgement.”

Celeste stretches her arms above her head and cracks her neck before sitting down in front of Carrie again. She’s much more calm now, more collected. She feels the usual sting of regret and hot shame after having lost her temper, but she tries to hide it. However, the strangest thing is that she feels she could openly show any emotion (besides the usual scowl she sports) in front of Carrie and she’d never judge her for it. She scrunches up her nose.

“I can’t argue with you there,” Carrie almost smiles. “I’ll never know what either of them—no, never mind, I just…fuck, I miss Kaidan. I hope he’s okay…”

Carrie puts down one hand but shifts the other into a fist which presses into her forehead. So much for not thinking about Kaidan.

“I miss him, too,” Celeste admits, and sighs.“Who knows what the fuck happens now, though. What even caused… this?”

“I’d say some higher power has a _really_ sick sense of humor, but…” Carrie laughs mirthlessly and finally reaches for the ryncol to take another drink. “But I’ve been dead. It wasn’t _anything_ like this.”

“I don't know if I believe in a higher power, but,” Celeste waits for Carrie to finish her drink so that she can have another sip, “I'm curious. How was it like for you? Dying? It just hit me… this is my only chance to ask anyone else.”

“I, ah…I don’t really know, either, but…um, yeah,” Carrie stumbles somewhat. It dawns on her that this really _is_ something she’s never been able to talk about before and likely never will again, at least not with someone who could actually relate. “I don’t think there was anything, you know… _beyond._ When I woke up at Lazarus Station, that’s all it felt like—waking up. I remember…I remember falling out into open space and then that fucking _panic_ you get when you’re suffocating, that fight response, before everything went black, and then…and then I was in a research facility, like nothing had happened. You?”

Celeste nods along before she replies. “Dude, yeah, exactly the same,” she waves her hand around. “I just kept thinking ‘this is it’ over and over before everything went black…” she pauses. “I thought… I thought dying would feel different. Like a ‘life flashing before your eyes’ sort of thing.”

Carrie sighs and shakes her head. She doesn’t know if she’s ever believed in anything more, but she thinks a part of her has always _wanted_ to, and now having someone else to talk to about this same experience is not as comforting as she would’ve hoped it could be.

“I passed out, and two years later I woke up,” she shrugs as nonchalantly as she can. “If no one had told me, I’d never have known I’d actually _died_ in between. Don’t know what that says about…anything, really, but there it is.”

Celeste chuckles. “I remember losing my fucking shit when I woke up. I never, in a million years, would expect to wake up from _that_ ,” she stops smiling and nervously adds, “I still have nightmares about it.”

She doesn’t know what to expect from Carrie. Comfort? She feels stupid the minute she makes her confession, and leans back scowling. “Ah, nevermind.”

“No, wait,” Carrie speaks hastily. She is fascinated by the implication that perhaps their experiences had differed, and suddenly she actively _needs_ to discuss this. That, and she knows how _she_ is and how _she_ handles her more difficult emotions, and she therefore suspects Celeste might need to talk about it, herself. “What do you mean? What do you…how did it _feel?_ What do you dream—”

She stops herself there, nervous to push too hard. Carrie doesn’t have enough of a grasp on it for the actual _experience_ of dying to haunt her. She isn’t sure Celeste can say the same, though, and she isn’t sure why but she desperately needs to understand.

Celeste takes a deep breath. She doesn't know why she brought up this topic in the first place and now she feels the same way she when she was a child (she barely remembers her childhood, but she remembers the same hot feeling of shame) but now it's too late to take her words back. She had never discussed this before with anyone else - not even with the therapist she was forced to see after being arrested by the Alliance after Aratoht. But Celeste Shepard doesn't hold back, goddamn it, and she wasn't going to start now. So, she nervously starts, “I knew I was going to die the minute my suit’s pressure seals went to shit. I mean, the explosion was a big sign already, but the minute the suit had been compromised, I just _knew_ ,” she takes another deep breath, just now noticing how hard it was to breathe, how hard it was to talk about her death. “I wish I had passed out before I started suffocating. Even now, I can remember every agonising second. There was no life flashing before my eyes, no light at the end of the tunnel. Just the cold void of nothingness as I felt the air leaving my lungs.”

Celeste shudders. She is grateful for the chance to talk about this, even if her entire body is shaking and she vaguely feels ill. She knows, without a single doubt, that Carrie, of all people, won’t think of less of her for looking so shaken. She takes the bottle again for another drink, and continues.

“I remember thinking ‘I hope they all make it’ and then I woke up screaming in Lazarus Station.”

“I see,” Carrie responds carefully. She doesn’t know how to explain that she felt that same agonizing pain of asphyxiation that Celeste had, but that she cared so little at the time that she hadn’t even thought to consider the reality of what it meant. At least she thinks that’s the explanation. Perhaps it was a dissociative response, as god knows she’s good for those, or perhaps it was even simply the part of her brain that likely hoped it really would be the end, but—no, this isn’t the time to dwell on _that._

She _does_ know for damn sure how Celeste felt about hoping everyone else made it, but most of everything past that is a blur. She’d seen Kaidan and Joker leave the Normandy with her own two eyes, and beyond that…

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Carrie offers uncertainly. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Celeste swallows hard, her usual confident demeanor shaken. Her head is on her hands, and she breathes. “I was… hell, no, I _am_ so afraid that I’m not myself after Lazarus,” she mumbles, her voice shaking. “I kept having nightmares, every fucking time I fell asleep, that my reflection wasn’t my own.” Celeste’s voice breaks, and every word hangs in the air, the silence around the pair of Shepards unusually heavy.

“I know,” Carrie sighs deeply. She doesn’t mean to imply that she knows Celeste’s exact experience, except…actually, she thinks perhaps she does. She knows that feeling, it’s plagued her, too, ever since Lazarus Station, and then later, at Cerberus Headquarters…

“Kaidan says I’m real.” Carrie’s voice shakes and she is aware of the fact that she has already said this to Celeste, and to a point, if she’s honest, she _does_ still need to remind herself, but right now it’s more about reaching, for unravelling this great mystery of who they both are and how much of the same life they have lived.

 _“Kaidan says I’m real,”_ Carrie repeats, far more forcefully, and she looks to Celeste. “It has—had already been a fear, but when we were at Cronos Station, I had a moment where it got so bad I actually said it _out loud,_ but Kaidan told me…Kaidan told me that I’m real enough for him, and that has to mean something. It fucking _has to.”_

Carrie feels her eyes burn but she blinks it back, presses it down. Instead, she waits for Celeste to react.

Celeste feels reassured. The fact they share so many experiences has to mean something - she doesn’t know what, but she does know it now comforts her, instead of scaring her. She scoots closer to Carrie and awkwardly pats her shoulder. “Stay with me, pal,” she says.

“Yeah,” Carrie mutters. Celeste’s presence is comforting. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Carrie doesn’t know if she should mention that Celeste’s request to stay with her hurts, how it is already all too raw after being the last words Carrie had ever spoken to Admiral Anderson. She wonders if Celeste already knows.

“Did he ever tell _you?”_ Carrie musters instead. “Kaidan, I mean, did he…”

“He did,” Celeste replies, nodding. “He was with me, too, when we were at Cronos Station.” She sighs deeply, her hand never leaving Carrie’s shoulder. She needs to feel grounded, and she’s glad Carrie feels comfortable with the touch as much as she does. “

A thought occurs to her. “I think about Ashley so often,” Celeste confesses. “I wish… I wish..”

“I wish I could have saved her, too,” Carrie follows. “Oh god, I wish…fuck…I was so selfish, I could _never_ have left Kaidan, and who the fuck knows if it matters, I mean…I guess a lost soldier is a lost soldier, but knowing _why_ I prioritized the way I did…I— _fuck,_ I just miss her so much.”

“Fuck, I know,” Celeste replies, her heart as heavy as the air that surrounds them. “I miss her, too.”

Celeste can’t relate to Carrie in that particular aspect. She hadn’t yet developed feelings other than friendship towards Kaidan by then, but she knew she couldn’t go back for them both, and the soldier in her told her it made more sense to go back and check if the bomb was going to go off or not. That was what mattered the most. The fact Ashley was dead didn’t sink in until they were safe in the SR-1 and taking off. Celeste remembers feeling detached for a couple of hours, up until after the mission debriefing - after Kaidan had shouted at her, had said it should have been him - Celeste stormed to her quarters, her fists clenched, tears stinging her eyes, and she completely broke down. She could not sleep well for days afterwards, the guilt eating her up.

“Part of me hoped that in another world, she’d be alive,” Celeste adds. Carrie listens, silent. “Both of them.”

“Fuck, I think the Alliance therapist would be proud of me,” Celeste chuckles unexpectedly. “The fucking experience of personally signing the death sentence of millions of batarians didn’t get me talking about my feelings, but apparently talking to a Shepard from another universe does the trick.”

“Wait,” Carrie looks to Celeste in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Sure, Carrie knew that batarian numbers were dwindling after the loss of their homeworld, but that was news she’d caught elsewhere, not something she had anything to do with, herself.

An experience that differs? This is new, and this is incredibly intriguing.

“The Bahak system…?” Celeste squints, as confused as Carrie looks, “Kenson and her indoctrinated team…?”

The look on Carrie’s face is enough for Celeste to realise the other woman did not go through the same experience.

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from "M4, Part II" by Faunts.


End file.
